Uncommon Friends
by Gmariam
Summary: When Draco Malfoy walked into a shop one night looking for help, he found the last person he would have expected: Neville Longbottom. To Neville's surprise, Draco accepted his help. But neither anticipated that one chance meeting would be the beginning of a friendship that would last until the very end. Warnings: Substance Abuse, Self Injury, Character Death
1. Part One

**Author's Notes:  
**This story was written for a challenge at MNFF to go with an illustration by ToBeOrNotToBeaGryffindor. It won the challenge as well as a QSQ for best Post-Hogwarts story. The picture was a simple picture of a tombstone that read:

_Here Lies Draco Malfoy  
Devoted husband, beloved father, loyal son, uncommon friend  
June 5th, 1980 - November 24th, 2020_

This story is also a sequel of sorts to my story_ Marked_ (or rather that story was a prequel to this one?) Warnings include substance abuse, self injury, and character death.

* * *

Part One

The gaunt figure entering the shop was drawn and pale, grey eyes sunken into shadowed circles, blond hair already thinning though it had only been five years since he'd left school. Those years had obviously not been good to him: he looked as strung out as a pixie on pumpkin juice.

He shuffled into the apothecary, his gaze darting around the shop nervous and unfocused, until they rested on the man behind the counter.

"Do you actually work here, Longbottom?" he asked, his voice low and muffled and very annoyed. He obviously didn't want to be seen, but he was also in some sort of physical distress that Neville could hardly ignore.

"I do," Neville nodded, raising an eyebrow at the disgruntled greeting. "Do you need help with something, Malfoy?"

"Do I look like I need help?" Draco snapped, raising thin fingers to his hair and anxiously messing it up even more than it had been when he'd stepped in. Closer up, Neville noticed that the other man's robes were wrinkled and worn, and he had a slight growth of stubble, marred by an ugly scar across his cheek.

"Actually, you do," Neville replied with a shrug. "And since I happen to be working nights, I have to help you. So what do you want?"

"Some discretion, for one," Draco said, still sounding annoyed. "And then something for…this." He motioned at himself, as if that would explain everything. Neville frowned.

"Are you ill?" he asked. "Because you'd be better off seeing a Healer if that's the case."

"I'm…recovering," Draco said, sounding evasive.

"From what?" Neville continued, though he was starting to put it together: the shaking, the irritability, the worn clothing. He'd wager five Galleons that Draco Malfoy was trying to kick some sort of drug habit; it also explained his desire for discretion.

"It's none of your damn business, Longbottom," Draco snapped again. "Look, I just need some kind of potion or tincture that will…you know, calm my nerves."

"Nerves?" Neville asked skeptically, moving toward the shelves. "Well, you were good at potions, Malfoy, so you should know a simple Calming Draught would help with that." He held out a cordial; Draco refused.

"I've obviously tried that. I need something stronger." Surprisingly enough, he met Neville's eyes, as if trying to tell him more with just a look; usually someone in his situation would glance away.

"Then tell me what you're trying to quit," Neville said, holding Malfoy's gaze without flinching for possibly the first time in his life. "Or I can't help you."

"I'm not trying to-" he started, but Neville cut him off.

"Look, Mr. Malfoy." Neville put a sarcastic inflection on the address, given that they were former enemies now in a very awkward position. "I am not a Healer, but I have some experience with these things. You're not the first person to walk in here looking for a fix-or way to get off one. So tell me what it is and hopefully I can get you the right draught."

Draco glared at him, as if offended by the tone of his voice. If Malfoy was more worried about his name than his withdrawal symptoms, then he was probably beyond help. Neville shrugged again and walked away.

"No, wait," Draco said, taking a step forward. His body dragged as if reaching out to Neville Longbottom was one of the hardest steps he'd ever taken. "I've been taking _Patientia_. I'm trying to stop, though, and it's…rough, to say the least."

"_Patientia_?" Neville frowned. "Why would you take that? It's dangerous. The main ingredient is the basis for all sorts of Muggle street drugs."

Draco looked away. "I know. I've tried most of them. Look, just give me something to help me off it, all right?"

Neville stared at him while he thought. He'd never been good at potions, but he knew plants. The _Patientia _potion was primarily a tincture of poppy and devil's claw, stabilized with mallow root and one drop of Lethe Water. It was only used in the most desperate of medical cases because it was highly addictive. And because of its addictive properties, it was only available through St. Mungo's…or if you knew the right people. It was fairly obvious Draco Malfoy knew the right people and had got himself in too far.

Taking the basic Calming Draught he had offered earlier, Neville crossed the shop to the ingredients shelves and began to gather a few other plants whose medicinal qualities helped with withdrawal: passionflower, valerian, and a bit of ginger root.

"Do you have any of the _Patientia _potion left?" he asked as he poured the Calming Draught into a small cauldron. He began to steep it with the other ingredients, stirring counterclockwise as he had learned from the owner of the shop.

"I told you I'm trying to quit it, Longbottom," Malfoy muttered, beginning to pace. "Why do you ask so many damn questions?"

"Because I need some," Neville replied evenly, although he was starting to grow both nervous and exasperated. He was not scared of Malfoy anymore, not exactly; neither was he entirely comfortable, however, even if the Slytherin bully was practically begging for his help now. He wasn't sure it would work; from personal experience he was fairly certain it should, but if it didn't…it was only Malfoy, right? Neville just wanted to get him out of the shop so he could return to what he had been doing, which was calm and quiet study that didn't dredge up old memories of the past.

"Why do you need it? You just told me what's in it." Draco paused, stopping in front of the cauldron. "Wait a minute. You were bollocks in Potions at school. Why the hell am I even talking to you?" He turned to leave, and Neville couldn't help but smirk as he called out to him.

"Because I know plants," Neville replied, keeping his voice even as possible. "And I know addiction."

Draco stopped, and for the briefest moment his shoulders slumped, before he turned and put on the sneer that Neville remembered too well from school. "You, Longbottom? What does a Gryffindor hero know about pain and suffering and needing something you know you shouldn't have, but just can't stop wanting anyway?"

Neville shrugged again. "I know pain and suffering, Malfoy. I don't know much about drugs, but I've been through it with a friend. To get him clean, he took this potion, only with fewer and fewer drops of his fix mixed it. Then he weaned off it, and now he's clean." _Mostly_, he added silently to himself. If Seamus still liked a few too many Muggle spirits now and then, it was better than the devastating effects of some of the other magical substances he had tried and got hooked on. Harry and Neville's intervention two years ago had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever done for someone. He dreaded going through it again with anyone, particularly Draco Malfoy.

Shaking his head of the ridiculous thought, Neville continued the potion. After Seamus had been released from St. Mungo's, the Healers had showed him and Harry how to brew the withdrawal potion on their own, with strict instructions to include less and less of Seamus's fix each day. Then they pulled back on the withdrawal potion itself until he took barely a cordial, then half, then a sip. Finally he was free of his demons. Dean's death still haunted him, but he'd started seeing someone to deal with the guilt in a healthy way, not a destructive one.

Thinking back on all this, Neville wondered once again how Draco had got himself addicted to _Patientia_. It must have been an injury, since as far as he knew the potent painkilling potion was only used at St. Mungo's in the most serious of cases and under strict supervision. How long had Draco been on it? How had he got hold of more?

"So how long is this going to take?" Malfoy asked, but his voice was less gruff now, almost desperate sounding. Neville glanced up to see Malfoy's face was free of the sneer, lined only with pain instead. His hands were still shaking.

"About an hour," Neville replied, looking away. "You should go get something to eat, you look like you could use it."

Draco glanced down at himself and smiled bitterly. "Not hungry. I'll wait."

"Suit yourself." Neville let the cauldron simmer, silently willing it finish quicker, because he did not want to be stuck with Draco Malfoy for any length of time.

"So how did you end up here then?" Malfoy finally asked as the silence stretched into uncomfortable minutes. "I thought you were licking Potter's boots at the Ministry."

Neville gave him the most withering look he could and was surprised when Draco actually glanced away. "Sorry," he muttered. "He's your mate and all, I know."

"It doesn't bother me anymore," Neville replied, and it was true. He'd been trapped in Harry's shadow for a long time, but leaving the Ministry had been the best thing he had ever done to get out from it. Yes, he'd enjoyed his time there and done good work, but ultimately it was not his calling, not like it was for Harry. Ron had left as well, for Harry would always be the real hero, and they had other things to do.

"So why did you leave?" asked Draco.

"Why did you start _Patientia_?" Neville shot back, still curious.

Draco laughed, but it sounded completely defeated. It was an odd sound, because in his mind Neville still heard the arrogant laugh of the bastard Malfoy had been in school. He gave the broken man before him a bland look. "Fine. It's your business. I don't care."

"No one does," Draco murmured, and Neville glanced up in surprise at the rare and very vulnerable admission. "But if you must know, I was injured, and the Healers at St. Mungo's deemed it worth the risk to use the potion."

"It must have been serious," Neville remarked. Now he was definitely curious, as he hadn't heard anything, and he and his friends still tended to follow what was going on with their former classmates-even the ones they had loathed.

Draco narrowed his eyes at him. "Never try to cut a Dark Mark out of your skin, Longbottom," he said softly, his gaze retreating inward. "It was not put there to be cut out. It was put there forever."

Neville didn't know what to say. Draco Malfoy had tried to cut the Dark Mark from his arm? Neville could only imagine that the physical act alone must have been unbearable. Knowing Voldemort's use of Dark magic, the magical repercussions must have been even worse, especially if the Healers had deemed it necessary to give him such a powerful narcotic.

An awkward silence stretched between them as Neville stirred the potion, adding some skullcap, burdock seed, and lavender. He found himself flustered at Malfoy's admission: he didn't want to be, but he actually felt sorry for the prat.

"So yes," Draco finally coughed. "That's how I ended up hooked on it. My Healer doled it out in smaller and smaller doses, trying to wean me off and thinking I was doing okay, when really I managed to find it quite easily in Knockturn Alley."

"So you appeared to be getting better only because you kept taking more and more," Neville finished. Draco nodded numbly. "Why?"

"I don't think I need to go into that with you, Longbottom," he replied, but his defensive retorts were gone, and there was nothing but a sad, regretful tone to his voice. "I just need that potion. I can't do this anymore."

Neville realized he had been staring and turned back to the cauldron. To his relief, the deep green liquid matched the color he remembered from Seamus's intervention exactly. He Summoned several vials, breaking only one as he set them down next to the cauldron and began to fill them with the withdrawal potion.

"Remember, I'm not a Healer," he said again, suddenly nervous that something could go wrong and the might of the Malfoy family would fall on him and the small shop he was simply trying to learn from. "But like I said, I know plants, and this is what we did for Seamus-" Damn, he'd slipped.

Draco snorted. "Should have figured you were talking about Finnegan. Couldn't have been pretty-boy Potter, after all."

Neville continued, ignoring the caustic remarks about two of his closest friends. "I added a few things for your own case. All you have to do is add the _Patientia _to each vial, tapering off bit by bit until you don't need it anymore."

Draco stared at the vials, lined up on the counter. His hand started shaking again. "I can't."

"Then get someone to help you."

"There is no one."

Neville just stared at him. This was Draco Malfoy: he'd had a gang of Slytherins following him and doing his bidding for his entire Hogwarts career. Five years out should see him successful in both his personal, private, and professional lives. Apparently that was not the case, and Neville struggled with the conflicting feelings of satisfaction and pity before finally saying the last thing he wanted to say.

"Fine. I'll do it."

* * *

He went to the shop every night at closing; the first week was the worst. Longbottom literally had to Apparate him home when he could barely hold himself upright. After a fortnight, he started to walk out on his own. After a month, he actually felt like eating again, and even spontaneously invited Neville to join him for dinner; Longbottom turned him down. Apparently he did not want to get involved more than he already was, which was both a relief and a disappointment.

After two months he relapsed and bought a new vial in Knockturn Alley, but he at least had the sense to recognize it and hand it over to Longbottom after the first crash. Neville tried to talk him into going to St. Mungo's, but he wouldn't hear it. As he saw things, it was the hospital that had given him the potion in the first place, and he wanted nothing more to do with them. Never mind that he didn't want anyone to know, least of all his family; he would do it himself.

After several more weeks of tapering off first the _Patientia_, then the withdrawal potion, Draco began to feel like a different person. He gained weight and cleaned up his appearance, his hands stopped shaking, and he talked without mumbling. He even found his attitude again and began to throw it at Longbottom, only the other man had changed so much he was well able to handle it-and even toss it right back.

Then one day he stopped going to the shop, determined to be done with it and move on. He imagined Longbottom checking the _Daily Prophet_every day, expecting to read an obituary, and felt bad for not even saying goodbye to the one person who had helped him. He had almost started liking him, the stupid git. Draco had literally gone through hell and come out a different person, and Neville Longbottom of all people had been the one to stand by him. Yet it was time to put the past behind them; what was done, was done, and Longbottom was likely glad to be rid of him.

But the guilt weighed on his growing conscience: he at least owed Neville an explanation, an update-a thank you. And truth be told, he missed the one person he could almost call a friend. So one afternoon, almost a month later, Draco went to the shop, feeling fit and wearing new robes, determined to make amends. Neville frowned suspiciously when he entered.

"I thought for sure you were in a gutter somewhere, you know," he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. He continued with his work, and Draco grinned. So the git had been worried about him.

"As you can see, I'm not." Draco gestured at his robes.

"Obviously. Did you fall off the wagon or just come to gloat on how well off you are?" Longbottom sounded genuinely annoyed, and Draco sighed, because he actually felt bad.

"Look, I'm sorry I haven't been around. I've been doing well, though. I've been busy."

Neville cocked an eyebrow as he stacked some sort of dried plant on the shelves. "High society keeping you on your toes, then?"

Draco snorted. "I'm not a part of that anymore-not like I used to be." The war had changed more than his family's fortunes: it had changed their name, their reputation. Lucius Malfoy might have escaped prison by virtue of his wife's actions and the word of Harry Potter, but the Malfoy name was no longer feared or respected. Rather, it was just another family among many who had picked the wrong side and lost. Slowly but surely the upper crust of wizarding society was rebuilding itself, but it would still take quite a while before the memory of the war was behind them.

"I've actually been looking for a job," said Draco, causing Longbottom to turn and gape at him in amazement. He didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed, so he just continued. "And I found one, too."

"I don't know what to say," Longbottom murmured. "I'm shocked." He nodded and finally smiled. "Good for you, Malfoy. Nice to see you join the ranks of the weary. So what are you doing?"

"Something I'll be good at: working in the Department of Magical Games and Sports." He coughed as Neville gave him a slightly incredulous look. "Hey, I was good at Quidditch, and I know chess, and I can work the system. I'm starting low, but I'll move up fast." For some reason, he wanted the other man's approval, even though Neville Longbottom, hero of the Battle of Hogwarts, had left the Ministry to work in a small apothecary on the outskirts of Diagon Alley.

Longbottom gave him another long look, but to Draco's relief, he finally held out his hand. "Congratulations, then. I'm glad to see you officially back on your feet."

Draco took the other man's hand and shook it, something he could have never imagined doing five or six years ago. "Thanks, Longbottom. Look, I owe you. How about getting something to eat? On me."

Longbottom shook his head. "You don't owe me anything, Malfoy."

"No, really-I do, and I want to. Let's get a drink at the Leaky Cauldron. What do you say?"

Neville looked so puzzled that Draco almost wanted to laugh. "You'd actually want to be seen with me? In public?"

Draco pulled a face, trying to inject some much needed humor into an awkward situation. "If I must. You are a bit more famous than me now, after all. Maybe you can fill me in on the Ministry. You've only been out a year or two, right?"

Longbottom sighed. "Right. The Ministry. Fine. Let me get my things and lock up. I'll meet you there."

"I can wait," Draco said. Neville gave him another odd look, but Draco just pretended to look at the various unusual ingredients around the shop.

Within a few minutes, Neville had closed up, and they made their way to the Leaky Cauldron. Draco was sure people were looking at them strangely and tried to shrug it off, but it bothered him. Maybe he was making a mistake. Maybe he shouldn't have asked Longbottom for a drink. If he wanted to move up in the Ministry and rebuild his name, he could be dining with far more influential people.

Then again, Longbottom did know people at the Ministry, and more importantly: Neville Longbottom had saved his life. He would never admit it, but it was true, and for some reason, he felt a kinship with the man now. He wasn't really that bad, for a Gryffindor.

They entered the Leaky Cauldron, and Longbottom waved to a girl moving around the tables. She had long blonde hair and was fairly pretty, as girls went. She gave him a broad smile and hurried over for a hug. Malfoy tried to place her: a Hufflepuff, maybe? She frowned at him, and he suddenly remembered.

"Hi, Hannah," he said, and he tried not to mumble, tried not to feel intimidated or inferior. Yes, he had done terrible things, but that was behind him now, and he wanted to start fresh. He needed it, even if that meant being nice to people he had probably tortured at school. Longbottom had turned out all right; maybe Hufflepuffs weren't so bad, either.

"Malfoy," she said, before turning back to Longbottom. "Didn't know you two were friends." She led them to a table at the back, and Draco thought Longbottom might actually be blushing.

"Draco's starting at the Ministry and thought I could fill him in on things." He sat down and smiled with a shrug. Hannah actually laughed.

"Because the Ministry was such a good fit for both of us," she said, rolling her eyes. "Good luck, Malfoy. You'll need it. What can I get you?"

"My usual," said Longbottom, and Hannah nodded. Draco glanced between them.

"What's your usual?" he asked.

"Gillywater with a slice of orange," said Longbottom. Draco almost snorted, but he noticed the complete lack of defensiveness he might have expected from Longbottom and was reluctantly impressed at how much the man had changed since school. He was confident now, more sure of himself and his worth.

"Sounds vile, but I'll try it. Thank you."

He didn't miss the surprised look Hannah shot Longbottom as she hurried away. He supposed he'd better get used to it; he had quite a reputation to shake, after all.

"So Abbot was at the Ministry too?" he asked curiously.

"She was in the Department of Magical Transportation for about two years-Portkeys, I think. She hated it. When her uncle bought the Leaky she jumped at the chance to help out and has been here ever since."

Draco watched Hannah float around the room, trying to remember what she had been like in school and failing. He had rarely given any thought to anyone outside his own house. Yet she seemed personable and happy, like she enjoyed what she was doing even if she was serving others and cleaning tables. He hoped that his own experience at the Ministry turned out better.

"So why did you leave?" Draco asked. "It can't be that bad, can it?"

Neville studied him closely before answering. "No, no it's not. It just wasn't the right place for me."

"And a dodgy old apothecary is?" Draco asked skeptically. "If you like plants so much, why not a greenhouse somewhere?"

Longbottom was unruffled, but at that moment Hannah returned with their drinks and took their order. Taking a long sip of his Gillywater, Draco was surprised to find it wasn't half bad: sweet but with a clean citrus taste, and without the burn of the Firewhisky he was far more used to. It was a casual drink, not something hard, and he was surprised to find he appreciated it now that he didn't need to drink to drown his pain.

"I did do that," Neville finally replied. "I was at Brighstone in the greenhouses down on the Isle of Wight for a year, did six months studying magical creatures in Cork, then came to London to study for six months with Mr. Betony. I'm doing my T.O.A.D.s in Herbology."

Draco stared at him. "Are you serious? You're not only a former Auror, but you're getting an advanced degree?" Neville nodded, a satisfied smile on his mouth, no doubt owing to Draco's shock that the pudgy boy he remembered bullying from school had turned out so well. "What are you going to do next then?"

"He's going to take the job at Hogwarts, of course," Hannah said, coming over with their food. "Because he'd be brilliant at it."

"Professor Sprout hasn't even retired yet," Longbottom laughed. "Stop getting my hopes up."

"She will," Hannah replied. "And she'll owl you the moment she does. You were her best student in years and you know it."

"You'd actually go back to Hogwarts and teach?" Draco asked, even more incredulous. He thanked Hannah once more and tucked into his food. He had no idea Neville Longbottom had so much potential; it suddenly seemed rather pathetic that he'd only just secured his first job five years out of school.

"Absolutely," Longbottom replied. "It's perfect. Hannah's right, I'd be good at it." He laughed. "Not to sound cocky or anything."

"Not at all," Draco murmured, still amazed. "Good for you. I don't want to keep running into you every time I need something from the shop."

Longbottom grinned. "And I'll be glad to stop seeing your ugly face every time as well."

And just like that, they were friends.

* * *

**End Notes:**  
T.O.A.D.s would be Totally Onerous Advanced Diploma, or perhaps Terrifically Oppressive Advanced Degree.  
Thank you very much to Jaime/acacia carter for helping me with potions and plants here. If I've messed something up, it's all my fault and not hers; if it sounded good, it's all thanks to her. This story has three parts.


	2. Part Two

Part Two

"You should just ask her out already," Draco said, shaking his head as they entered the pub. They'd been meeting for dinner for almost three months, slowly but surely building a friendship until Draco could actually say something like that, and Neville knew that he meant it and wasn't just taking the piss. He still shook his head as he waved at Hannah and made his way toward their regular table.

"She's not interested, Malfoy." He wanted to believe otherwise, but he wouldn't let himself. What if she said no? Or what if she said yes?

"Of course she is!" Draco exclaimed. "She grins like a Cheshire cat every time you walk in here, and she almost always rushes over to hug you. She hasn't hugged me once."

"That's because you're a prat and I'm not," Neville said, not missing a beat. "Besides, she hugs everyone else."

"No, she doesn't," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "She hugs you because she likes you. Just ask her out. If I can get a date with Astoria Greengrass for the Ministry ball next month, you can get a date for dinner next week."

"You're still a Malfoy, even if you're a prat," Neville pointed out, though he knew full well that didn't count for quite as much these days. "I'm just—"

"—Neville Longbottom, Gryffindor hero, former Auror, and Herbology genius," Draco replied sarcastically. "Give me a break, Longbottom. Who would say no to that?"

"I was lucky," Neville murmured, sometimes forgetting just what he had accomplished during the war—and after. He still didn't feel as successful as Malfoy sometimes seemed to think he was, that was for sure. In fact, he usually felt like something was missing from his life, though he wasn't sure what. He just hoped he'd feel different when his T.O.A.D.s were finally complete and he had a real job.

"You were good—still are. Just ask her." Draco raised a pale eyebrow. "Or I will."

"You wouldn't," Neville replied, though the look on Malfoy's said otherwise.

"Don't you know me by now, Longbottom?" He grinned as he waved Hannah over. "I'm a prat."

"Don't!" Neville hissed, but it was too late: Hannah arrived, smiling at both of them now. She had slowly started to accept that Draco Malfoy was Neville's friend and not a completely horrible person. It still surprised Neville some days, truth be told. He was actually friends with the boy who had tortured him at school, who had sold out their headmaster to Voldemort…and who had suffered years of guilt over it, to the point of almost killing himself when he had tried to cut the Dark Mark from his arm. He was different now, and Neville accepted that, even if some of his other friends still had not. Ron in particular hated Neville even mentioning Draco Malfoy, let alone spending time with him.

"Good evening, you two," Hannah said brightly. "Same as usual?"

Malfoy nodded, but before she left, he reached out for her hand. "Wait a minute. Do you want to go out sometime?" Hannah stiffened and turned, her mouth hanging open.

"With you?" she replied, pulling her hand away. "Draco, I know you've been through a lot, but I'm not sure I—"

"No, not with me," he laughed. Neville closed his eyes, mortified. "With Longbottom. I've been trying to get him to ask, but he thinks you're not interested. I think you are. So how about it?"

Hannah looked both flustered and amused, and Neville was certain she was going to say no. To his surprise, she finally brushed some hair from her face and smiled. "Yes, I am interested. I'd love to have dinner and get away from this place."

"Perfect," said Malfoy. Neville simply stared at them as they began to plan it out as if he wasn't sitting there watching. "When's good for you?"

"Thursday?" Hannah suggested. She wasn't even looking at him; maybe she really wanted to go out with Malfoy after all. Neville let his head fall to the table.

"Thursday night would be perfect," Malfoy replied, kicking him under the table. Neville shot up. "He'll meet you here and you can walk to Orsino's."

Neville gave him a sharp look; Orsino's was a restaurant just around the corner from Diagon Alley, owned by an elderly Italian Squib and frequented by just as many wizards as Muggles. It was a nice place, as well as a touch on the expensive side. He'd never taken a girl there, though; he'd only been with his family, when he was younger, and it seemed an awfully big step for a first date.

But Hannah's face lit up, and she actually giggled. "I love Orsino's! And I have just the right dress. It'll be perfect." She paused and cocked her head. "Thanks, Draco. You're not so bad after all." Then turning to Neville, she smiled warmly, a slight blush to her cheeks. "See you on Thursday, Neville."

She practically danced away, completely forgetting to take their order. Draco sipped at his water and gave Neville a questioning look. Neville shook his head as he ran a shaking hand through his hair.

"I can't believe you just did that," he muttered.

"Are you free Thursday?" Draco asked, trying to sound innocent and failing. Neville snorted.

"Of course I am. But it'll cost me a week's pay to eat there, you know."

Draco frowned as he waved over someone else to take their order. "You don't make much at the shop then."

"Technically I'm a student, remember?" Neville replied. "I'm supposed to be learning, not earning. I'm lucky I get anything at all."

"I can float you some Galleons if you need it," Draco replied. "I just got a promotion."

"That was quick," Neville said, happy for him while still being annoyed with his meddling interference. "Congratulations. A promotion _and _a date for the ball."

"And you'll have your T.O.A.D.s and another date with Abbott in no time," Draco replied. "Even if I have to keep asking her for you."

Neville shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you, Malfoy."

"Believe me," Draco said with a laugh, "I ask myself the same question every time I walk in here."

* * *

"You're joking," Neville stated, shaking his head as he sipped at his Gillywater.

"I am not," Draco replied, slightly annoyed. He'd just told Longbottom he was going to propose to Astoria, and that was the other man's response? No congratulations or good wishes, just a flat statement of incredulous disbelief? Why was it so surprising that he wanted to get married? Or was it that he had found someone he actually wanted to marry and was reasonably certain wanted to marry him in return?

"You've only been seeing her for six months," Neville pointed out. "How do you know she'll say yes?"

"Because we've talked about it, Longbottom," Draco replied, trying to keep his voice even. "And we're both interested, we're both ready. I'm sorry if that's so hard to believe—or accept."

Neville sighed as he put down his fork. "No, it's not like that at all, Malfoy. I'm sorry, I'm just…surprised, that's all. I haven't even met her, you know. Sometimes I wonder if she's a real person or just a blow-up doll."

Draco sputtered into his soup. "A what?"

"Never mind," Neville laughed. "Just something Seamus used to joke about with Dean. Look, if you're sure and you're ready, then that's great. Congratulations."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, really," replied Neville. "I mean it. Look, in spite of everything, I don't really want to see you mess up your life again. It was bad enough the first time, holding your head over the toilet and Apparating you home every night. I do want to see you happy, in your own sick and twisted way."

That was more like it. Draco finally grinned. "Thanks. I figured you might be jealous."

Now it was Longbottom's turn to give him the annoyed glance. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm not jealous. You're an arrogant, pale-faced flash git—why would I be jealous of that?"

"Have you slept with Abbott yet?" Draco asked as nonchalantly as he could. He was rewarded when Neville flushed clear up to his eyebrows.

"That is none of your business," he muttered, but he glanced at the bar, where Hannah was cleaning some glasses and laughing with her uncle. Draco nodded knowingly.

"You don't have to wait, you know," he said, putting on his game face to egg on his companion. "At least, not as long as you waited to ask her out." He paused. "Oh wait, I asked her out for you, didn't I? Damn, does that mean I have to shag—"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Neville snapped, then leaned back and laughed bitterly. "You're such a bloody prat sometimes."

"I know," Draco replied, laughing at the reaction he almost always managed to get from Longbottom. It'd been over a year since they had met in the shop, but they still met for dinner, and Draco still looked forward to it. It was more than just winding him up: Longbottom could almost always hold his own now anyway, which actually made it far more enjoyable. More than that, they had become actual friends, somehow: he was genuinely fond of Neville Longbottom and really wanted his approval.

"So can I at meet her before the wedding?" Neville asked. "Just to see if she's real and not some Daydream Charm?"

"Yes, you can," Draco replied, ignoring the repeated dig. "Because I'd like for you to be my best man."

And once again Draco had surprised him, but this time the reaction was much more subdued, and a bit more unexpected. Neville put down his knife and fork, cleaned his mouth, took a drink, and finally narrowed his eyes at him. "What?"

"You know, the best man," Draco said, trying not to sound nervous or unsure, even though he was, now that it was down to it. "Stand next to me on the most important day of my life and make sure I don't pass out or do anything stupid. Will you do it?"

"Why?" The question was point blank and stung.

"Because that's what friends do for each other, don't they?" For the first time, Draco was actually worried Longbottom would say no, and the friendship they'd built over the past year would come crashing down because maybe it wasn't a friendship after all. The thought of it made him surprisingly sad, because Neville Longbottom was the closest thing to a best friend he had, and he wanted Neville to be there when he married Astoria Greengrass.

Neville nodded absently. "Yes, that's what friends do, but…pardon me for asking…don't you have better friends than me? I'm just wondering what people would think—what your parents would think, or your fiancée."

"My parents don't have a say in it, Longbottom," Draco snapped. "And Astoria's fine with it, because none of my other friends can string more than a few sentences together. I figured at least you'll be able to give a decent speech if you take the damn job."

The corners of Longbottom's mouth twitched. "Then I'll start working on it so I don't embarrass myself too much. Or you."

Draco blew out a breath as Neville grinned at him. "You're a bastard, you know."

"Be nice to me," Neville replied calmly as he resumed his meal. "You never know what might make it into that speech."

* * *

Draco was literally pacing the floor, shaking his hands at his side as if he could throw away all the tension and nerves that were building up in his body. Neville watched him for a bit, then stood, took him by the shoulders, and looked into his eyes.

"She'll be all right—they both will." Draco stared at him, wide-eyed.

"How do you know that?" he demanded. "It's been almost twenty-four hours already! She's tired, she's in pain, and she's ready to be done with this whole sodding thing."

"And so are you—except for the pain part, of course," Neville soothed. "Look, I know because it's just the way things are. It's how women give birth. Sometimes it takes a while, sometimes it doesn't. But it's what they've been doing for thousands of years, so it will be all right. How is she now?"

"She's sleeping," said Draco, raking his hand through his hair. "The Healers gave her some herb to speed things up, only nothing sped up. He's still in there, obviously. So they gave her something to relax and sleep instead. They want to wake her in a bit and really jump start things with something stronger."

Neville nodded. "That sounds about right. Look, Hannah was in labor for eighteen hours. From what she told me, it's normal for a first time mother. They gave her some motherwort, and Brian finally popped out, pink and wailing like nobody's business. It'll be the same for Astoria. Trust me."

Draco took a deep shaky breath. "All right. I'll trust you, since I have no choice. Thanks for coming, though. It means a lot since you've just gone through this."

"When was the last time you ate something?" Neville asked.

"Before we got here," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "They're not letting her have much, so it seemed unfair of me to eat a steak in front of her."

Neville laughed. "That would get you slapped for sure. Let's find something to eat downstairs. Is Daphne still with her?"

"Yes, she's been here from the beginning." Draco sighed. "Which has been both a blessing and a curse. I feel a bit left out, but she's a Healer, so she has a good idea of what's going on, even if she's not in charge of her sister's case."

"It's brilliant," said Neville, guiding him away. "Count yourself lucky. It was just me and Hannah on our own in there, which was what we wanted, but I still feel like I was a complete and utter failure at times."

Draco laughed. "She didn't hex your bits off so I'd say you did fine."

"Did Astoria get yours then?" Neville asked, feigning sympathy. He needed to take Draco's mind off things for a little while—get him to eat something, get him to relax. Then he could go back in and help deliver his son. Neville knew he would have appreciated the distraction during Brian's birth had it gone any longer than it had, so he was determined to do that for Draco.

Draco punched him on the arm. "Of course not," Draco replied. "She values them too much." Neville pretended to rub it, then laughed.

"It's your fault she's in there, you know." He grinned; Draco groaned.

"Don't remind me—she already has. Look, can we talk about something else?"

"What, like nappies, late nights, spit-up, crying…" Neville trailed off at the even paler than normal look on Draco's face. "I'm kidding. It's not all bad, trust me."

"Tell me something good then." They made their way to a small break room downstairs where food was available, but as it was quite late at night, there were only some stale pastries and cold coffee left on a table in the corner. Neville served them up a bit of each.

"Well, they're quite peaceful when they're asleep," Neville said, sitting down at a small table. "And they smell great after a bath. And the funny noises they make are adorable. And…what are you looking at?"

Draco shook his head. "Look at you. The little puffskein's got you wrapped around his finger already."

Neville smiled as he leaned back and took a bite of an old raspberry biscuit. "So what? It'll happen to you too. Give it a month, maybe less."

"I doubt it," Draco murmured. Neville noticed an apprehensive look on the other man's face and leaned forward.

"Why?" he asked, sensing that Draco had something on his mind.

Draco hesitated before he finally answered. "I don't do babies, Longbottom. They're so small, and all they do is eat and sleep and cry. I'm not going to be that drooling, doting father everyone seems to expect from every man who has ever had a son."

Neville smiled to himself. Draco _was_ just like every other man, really: none of them, not even Harry who had been so bloody thrilled about Ginny's pregnancy, were _not_scared of being a father. It was terrifying, and it was hard work, but he wouldn't trade it for the world.

"Look, Draco," he said softly, and Malfoy glanced at him in surprise, since even after so many years they still rarely used their first names with one another. "You may be nervous and scared or even terrified—I know I was—and you don't have to admit it if you don't want. But believe me when I say that the moment your little boy looks at you and smiles, or grasps your finger, or says something you're convinced sounds like 'Dad' even though it's really a gas bubble—you'll fall in love, too. It happens to the best of us, whether you want it to or not."

Draco looked at the table, swirling his cup of cold coffee. He opened his mouth to speak when a Healer stepped into the room.

"Mr. Malfoy? Your wife's awake. It's time."

He jumped up, spilling coffee everywhere. Stifling a laugh, Neville took out his wand and quickly cleaned it up, then pushed a rather stunned Draco from the room. Draco turned and gave him a grateful smile. "See you on the other side, Longbottom."

Neville watched him leave, excited to meet his friend's new son, even if Draco didn't feel quite ready yet.

* * *

**End Notes:**

Three small moments in their friendship, followed by two more to come. Only the next two are much sadder.  
Any mistakes are my own, especially if they are glaring Americanisms. Thanks for reading anyway! ;)


	3. Part Three

Part Three

Neville stared stoically across the field, his back stiff. Augusta Longbottom stood next to him, the only sign of emotion the shaking hand she held out to her grandson. To the other side stood his son, and a sadder figure Draco had never seen: all of six years old, he was wearing tiny dress robes and clinging to his father's left arm as if he might never let go. And Draco couldn't blame the boy: they had just buried his mother.

He didn't know how much longer Neville could hold it together. Why were funerals always so damn long? Worse still the weather: cool, cloudy, and drizzling. He couldn't imagine a sadder, bleaker day.

He swallowed hard and felt Astoria take his hand. Glancing at her, he nodded gratefully, and she smiled back, because she felt it too: Neville's unbearable pain, spelled out in every line of his face as he finally turned and led the way from the cemetery. He had lost Hannah suddenly and unexpectedly: she'd only fallen ill three months ago. Now he was alone with a young child to raise as a single father.

Draco couldn't imagine how hard it would be to lose his wife. He couldn't imagine a life without her: without her smile, her laughter, even her biting tongue and quick temper. Certainly her copper hair, her green eyes, her soft skin. What must Neville be feeling now? To never see, speak, or touch Hannah again? How was that fair to someone so good, so strong, so pure?

Draco swallowed again as he thought about all he'd been through with Neville Longbottom. He had been the one to ask Hannah to go out with Neville, had made sure they'd followed up on their disastrous dinner at Orsino's, had pushed him to propose when it was obvious to everyone they were meant for each other. He'd been there at Neville's side when they'd been married, been there when Brian had been born, and now he was watching his closest friend mourn his deepest loss.

As they filed past the family and began to offer condolences, Draco once more reached for Astoria's hand, not sure what to say to Neville. What do you say to someone who had lost so much? He only knew he couldn't make some snarky comment: now wasn't the time.

"You'll know what to do," Astoria murmured, as if reading his mind. "Just say what you feel. Don't hide it for once."

"For once?" he muttered back, unclear what she meant. Did he really hold back his real feelings that much? But he was unable to find out as they came up to Neville, and Draco awkwardly stuck out his hand. Yet almost before Neville took it, he pulled the Gryffindor into a hug and felt his own tears begin to fall as they held one another for a long time; words weren't necessary.

When they finally pulled apart, Draco found a small hand tugging on his almost immediately. It was Brian, and he looked confused.

"Where's Scorpius?" he asked, the 's' coming out a bit funny as both his front teeth were missing. Draco crouched down and smiled at the boy.

"He's with his Grandma and Grandpa Greengrass right now," he said, then leaned in close. "But he had an important message for you, if you're up for it."

The little boy's eyes brightened. Above them, Astoria was talking softly with Neville as they watched. "What did he say, Uncle Malfoy?"

"He said you should come visit as soon as possible," Draco said, keeping his face very serious. "Something about the playhouse out back you two were building."

"Is it finished?" Brian squealed, and Draco heard Neville laugh above him, a welcome sound in the middle of so much sadness.

"No, not quite. He said you need to help decorate it. He thought maybe you'd like to put a picture of your mum in there." Draco paused, hoping he hadn't pushed the boy too far, but Brian nodded eagerly.

"Yes, I'd like that. Then I could see her every time I come over to visit. When can I come?

Draco took the boy's hand and stood to talk to Neville again. "As soon as your dad is ready. Right now he needs you."

Brian nodded solemnly. "Okay. Maybe tomorrow then."

They all burst out laughing, and Brian gazed up at them, his small face confused. Draco let go of his hand and took Neville's once more. "We're happy to have him over whenever you want, whenever you need, and for as long as you can spare him for Scorpius."

Neville nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Draco. I know he'd like that. I could really use the time to…you know, go through … before school starts…" He trailed off, his voice too tight to go on, and Draco gripped his shoulder, his own eyes welling with tears once more.

"Let me know if you need any help with anything. Even Hogwarts stuff." He grinned, knowing it would at least get a smile from Longbottom. Since the day he had found out Neville was even considering a teaching position at Hogwarts, Draco had enjoyed giving his friend a hard time about it. Never mind that he was a fantastic Herbology professor; now it was an old joke between them, among many things.

Neville did smile, even managed a small snort. "Astoria must have put you up to that one, since I know you won't touch Hogwart's business with a ten-foot pole."

Draco turned off the light mood and leaned closer. "Anything for a friend, Neville. Just let us know."

"I will, Draco," Neville replied, putting his arm around Brian's shoulders. "I appreciate it."

"Tell Scorpius not to finish without me!" Brian called as they took their leave and made their way toward Hannah's parents. Draco tipped his head at the young boy and took his wife's hand: Brian may have lost his mother, but he would still have a large and loving family to look after him.

* * *

Once again Neville found himself at a funeral, only this time he was not mourning his wife, or his mother, or his Uncle Algie—he was mourning his best friend.

Draco had often said funerals were too damn long. The last time had been at Lucius Malfoy's funeral, actually, and it _had _been too long as far as Neville was concerned. Yet now he didn't want the sad ceremony to end, because that would mean it was real, it was over. Draco was gone, Astoria was alone, and Scorpius was a young man who would no longer know his father's love and guidance.

But it ended, and condolences were given to the family, and slowly the mourners began to file away. Neville was glad to see Harry waiting to offer his sympathies, though he was not surprised to see that Harry was alone. He wasn't sure why Harry was there—whether for him or for the Malfoy family—but he was grateful at least one of his friends had come. They had long stopped questioning his friendship with Draco Malfoy, but he knew they still doubted it. Neville appreciated that Harry had thought enough of both of them to come anyway, and hoped that perhaps Harry had seen a bit of what Neville had known for years: Draco Malfoy had changed. He had been loved and he would be missed.

He watched Harry take his leave, watched Brian suppress a grin as Scorpius struggled to understand old Horace Slughorn mumbling his sympathies, watched Astoria hold her head high as Narcissa Malfoy wept once more into someone's arms.

It wasn't fair. First he'd lost his wife, and now Astoria had lost her husband. Why was the world filled with so much death? What had they done to deserve such a fate, to lose the one person they had chosen to spend the rest of their life with? Neville had struggled with the question for years, asking it as each new funeral reminded him of his loss so many years ago. Draco had been there for him every time, though he had no answer. He simply listened and offered whatever reassuring words he could, often with a shot of Firewhisky, but now Neville would drink by himself. And there were still no answers.

Neville had lost friends and family, yet this abrupt hole in his life felt different somehow. His mother had been sick for so long, her passing had almost been a blessing of release her from her suffering. His uncle had been old, older than anyone Neville had ever known, and he had long declared himself ready. Hannah had been ill for several months, though even that time hadn't fully prepared Neville for what it would be like to lose a spouse. Yet at least he had known. But Draco had died unexpectedly, murdered by enemies as he left the pub one night; he had gone out for a simple dinner but never returned. The unfairness of it made him want to rail at the universe, that someone could be taken from their loved ones so fast, without warning, forever.

Neville had seen people die at Hogwarts; he had seen people die since then, had even held Hannah's hand as she took her last breath. But Neville had been with Draco the night he was killed, and still he wasn't prepared for the quick, shocking finality of it. Nor could he have ever anticipated the unbearable agony of holding someone in your arms and watching their blood soak the pavement as their life ebbed away. No spell, no amount of sobbing or shouting had been able to save Draco; it had been that fast, and Neville's guilt grew with each passing day, that he had not been able to save him, when he alone could have saved Draco's life as he had once before.

That he had been with him should have meant something: he had been able to say goodbye, make that final promise that he would watch over Astoria and Scorpius. Yet Neville didn't feel fortunate or grateful, he felt cursed. He felt guilty. And more than anything, he felt alone for the first time since Hannah had died.

Draco Malfoy had been his best friend. Neville knew it was probably the oddest friendship either of them had, yet it was what it was and it worked for them. What had started as a reluctant offer of help had grown into much more, and now it was gone. No more dinners at the pub, no more family parties. There would be no one to both cut him down and build him up in the same breath, no one to laugh and cry with, no one to both love and hate.

Scorpius motioned to Brian, and together they helped Narcissa Malfoy walk back to the house. Neville watched them, two strong young men leading the frail old woman who had now lost both her husband and son. They had been close before Hannah passed, but had become almost like brothers in the years since. Brian knew what it was like to lose a parent, and Neville could only hope Scorpius would lean on him in such a difficult time. They would need each other.

He was more worried, however, about Astoria. He walked over to where she was standing, staring across the grounds of Malfoy Manor. She turned as he approached, and for the first time that day she dropped the mask she had been wearing, and Neville saw how truly devastated she was.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured for what felt like the one-hundredth time in the past week. He reached out to her and she collapsed in his arms, and he held her as she sobbed, all the heartache and loss she had been holding back in public finally pouring out in private. All too soon he was crying with her, for he knew more than anyone the pain of losing a spouse. And he had lost his best friend. He wasn't sure they would get through it, but he realized, as Brian and Scorpius disappeared into the house, that they had to, if only for the boys. They would do it together, somehow, one day at a time.

Draco and Astoria had been there for him and Brian when Hannah had died, and now they would be there for her and Scorpius. They were practically family, after all. It probably didn't seem like it to a lot of others, but their friendship had grown to include even their wives and children. Neville couldn't imagine getting together with Astoria and Scorpius without Draco taking the piss out of them all with his sarcastic, biting comments. It would be dull, to say the least—but it would continue. He was determined not to abandon them, no matter how much it hurt to be reminded of what they had all lost.

"I'm sorry," Astoria finally murmured, pulling away. She rolled her eyes as she wiped tears from Neville's shoulder. "I've messed up your robes."

"It's all right," he replied. "I have other clothes."

"And I have a wand," she replied, with a small smile. "I could clean it up right now if you like."

"It doesn't matter," Neville replied. "It's just water and salt." Merlin, what a stupid thing to say. He rolled his eyes and she laughed, and he embraced her once more, before putting his arm around her shoulder and leading her back toward the house.

"Look, Astoria, if there's anything you need…" He trailed off as she nodded, leaning against him.

"I know, Neville. I know. You've always been there for us. You have been such a good friend."

Neville frowned. "Have been?" he asked. "Astoria, I hope you don't think I'm going to disappear just because…well, just because." He couldn't say it, but continued as best as he could. "You and Scorpius mean everything to us—to me. I'd do anything for you. All you have to do is ask."

They came to the stairs leading into the house. How many times had he stumbled up those stairs with Draco in a drunken haze? How many times had they chased Brian and Scorpius down them onto the lawn? The memories hit him like a Stunning Spell, and he almost gasped out loud as something twisted in his chest. The last time he had walked up these stairs, he had been carrying Draco's body, because he simply hadn't known where else to go. And like that first night they'd met, he'd Apparated him home.

"I know, Neville," she said, linking arms with him. It grounded him, and he took a deep breath to calm himself, focus on her words. "And I know I'll have to. I have no idea what to do…about anything. I have no idea what to do next."

As they entered the house, Neville steered her toward the front parlor, where they had often sat for drinks. "I think we need a toast, just the two of us," he said. He sat her down and mixed the drink he'd introduced to Draco, making sure to add the splash of gin his friend had insisted on when the occasion called for something a bit more stiff.

Astoria smiled gratefully as he handed her Gillywater with a slice of orange. They held their glasses up, gazing sadly at one another as they made their private toasts. Silently, Neville thanked Draco for coming into the shop that night seventeen years ago, for asking out Hannah, for choosing him as best man, for being a steady godfather to Brian. He promised to watch over Astoria and Scorpius, and even Narcissa, and to make sure the family name continued to grow and redeem itself. And he apologized for all the wrongs he had done Draco over the years, asking for forgiveness, starting with his failure to save him the night he died. Then Neville nodded and spoke out loud.

"To Draco Malfoy—devoted husband, beloved father, loyal son, uncommon friend."

And with those final words, he said farewell to his friend at last, and hoped to meet him again one day beyond the veil.

* * *

**End Notes:**

The end! Thanks to Jess for a lovely picture to write, and to Natalie too. :)  
And if you are wondering what I think you might be wondering, the answer is yes. But I doubt I'll write a sequel. Thank you for reading. I appreciate the reviews!


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